Spark
by liquid-thought
Summary: Written for the prompt Destiel and shotgunning. I myself am not a fan of regular cigarettes, though, so I got a little creative.


It was early morning in the manor as Castiel walked through the halls. Birds were chirping in the vaulted ceiling and sunlight poured in through the tall windows. The sounds of early spring rain were accompanied by the gentle whir of hydraulics and his right foot hitting the wooden floors more heavily than his left. Though it weighed less than his last prosthetic, the metal components were still heavier than his flesh and blood left. There was a noticeable difference in the definition of his right and left thighs, his right being worked harder to support a false limb from the knee down. Occasionally he had back aches from being off-balance, but overall it was infinitely preferable to being homeless and starved like he was before Jo found him and brought him to Dean.

His Master was around somewhere, probably in his shop building something. First up for the day, Castiel headed toward the kitchen, Dean always got angry if he didn't eat, even though he could go without to make sure he wasn't burdening the craftsman. For his life he still couldn't figure out why Dean asked him to stay. Why he was so nice when Castiel was essentially a beggar stealing food out of his mouth and money out of his pockets.

He could see the way the others thought of him when Dean hosted a party for the Governor. They looked down on him in disdain and even openly asked Dean why he allowed filth in his home. To the women it resulted in a stiff change in subject, to the men it usually brought about an underhanded remark from Dean that Castiel didn't always understand. The air would be tense for moments afterward and Dean would hover closely to him, seeming to want to protect him. Not that he necessarily needed it, he had survived for years before the Winchester's collective kindness.

There were fruits laying on the island in the center of their large kitchen, tart apples that would be used in a pie later when Benny came in to cook and a small bowl of berries just beside it. Neither of those were Castiel's, though he knew Dean would never mind if he ate one. Instead he went to the counter along the back wall and picked up a pear, the flesh yielding under his fingers letting him know it was ripe. Juice dribbled down his chin and onto his bare chest as he ate it, sweet flavor exploding on his tongue. Years on the streets meant that anything with sugar was a hoarded treasure and he knew Dean went out of his way in the market to buy him candies and sweets. There were many considerations taken on his behalf that baffled him at times.

He ate most of the core, leaving the seeds to fall into the waste bin near the back door. A lone sweet bun sat on a cooling rack left out from the night before and Castiel smiled softly as he picked it up, sugary glaze slipping against the pads of his fingers. Sweet filling coated his tongue and burst out the back onto his palm when he bit into the confection, the usual soft yellow of butter cream mixed with a delicate pink. He knew from the taste that Benny had been experimenting again, apparently combining strawberry cream into the usual mix.

Right on cue Benny came in the back door, hat askew on his head as he stepped inside. He smiled jovially and laughed, as abrasive as he could be, making jokes at Castiel's expense, he was also thoughtful and kind and never looked at Castiel like he was less than.

"Was hopin' you'd find that before Dean did. Man's a damn hog when I leave anythin' our for too long." Castiel couldn't speak, mouth still filled with the tasty treat, so he smiled as much as he could and nodded. The older man laughed and crossed his arms over his chest. "Well? Am I good or am I great?"

Castiel swallowed and licked the excess filling from his hand. "It's delicious, thank you."

Benny shook his head and waved a hand through the air. "Don't worry 'bout it, now get out I gotta get started on brunch."

Castiel hurried out of the kitchen, narrowly avoiding one of the maids as he walked back out to the foyer. The pastry was gone before he even reached the steps and he was left sucking on his fingers as Dean turned the corner of the second floor. His Master stopped momentarily and gaped, heat seeping into his bright green eyes that Castiel recognized well. They'd not been intimate more than a handful of times, but he knew when Dean was in want of him.

"Cas, you're up, good." He cleared his throat and jerked his head to the side, gesturing back the way he came. "C'mon, I want to show you something Sam brought by."

Castiel skipped up the stairs quickly, almost tripping a few times when he tried to overcompensate for his right leg. Dean laughed fondly and stepped aside, heading toward the door for the attic. "I'm still not used to the lighter metals."

Dean nodded. "Yeah, I can see that. It's helping your back, though, right?" Green eyes skated over him, observing his steps. "You look like you're walking better."

Castiel nodded. "Much better, thank you." He found himself thanking Dean quite frequently.

Dean was wearing a simple pair of trousers, loose and soft around his legs. The drawstrings dangled in the front, frayed below the knots at the ends. His shirt was made of the same material, fabric faded to something almost resembling pink where once it may have been red. Unlike some of the other elite in the city, Dean wasn't prone to excess. He made great money fashioning functioning models of cars and boats and even some more complex things like Castiel's leg or Jo's hand, but he never spent it on frivolous parties and unnecessary clothing.

Keys jingled lightly as Dean fished them out of his shirt, catching the leather strap on the odd talisman Sam had bought and strung for him when they were children. The four locks to his home workshop clicked open one after the other and Dean pulled him inside quickly. Not many were allowed on the second floor and fewer still were granted access to Dean's work area. He'd claimed that in the past his security hadn't been as tight and someone stole a prototype for a vehicle he was working on. Sam had managed to track the thief down and get the plans back, but after that Dean had learned his lesson.

"Take a seat, Cas, you ate, right?" Castiel nodded and plopped down on the sofa next to Dean's bookshelf. He had a clear view through the window at the head of the room and took a chance to scan the surrounding rooftops. If he looked hard enough, on a clear day he could see the neighborhood he used to live in. Sometimes he wondered if any of the people he knew were still there... still alive. The thoughts were quickly tucked away, it wasn't something he liked to dwell on. Many of the people he used to associate with were better off dead in his opinion. Dean reappeared out of the side room with a small box in hand.

There was a symbol of a leaf on the front and Castiel squinted as Dean sat down heavily, snapping his fingers when he realized he'd forgotten something. He handed the box to Castiel and went over to his desk, rifling through a few sheets of paper before finding a small box of wood matches. The sofa dipped with his weight when he returned, scooting in close and throwing an arm around Castiel's shoulders.

He took the box back and slid the top off. Normally Castiel would have called them cigarettes, but they were rolled in different colored papers, organized into different compartments that were separated by small slats of wood. Then there was the aroma. Castiel had a distinct distaste for traditional tobacco, the pungent odor reminding him of back alleys and pimps smiling to him, asking him if he wanted to get fed. Dean had actually quit once Castiel became a permanent fixture in the house and it still surprised him.

Dean picked one up, holding it between his fingers to present it to Castiel. It was wrapped in light blue paper and smelled sweet, almost like one of the exotic teas Sam had bought him. Dean took it back after a few seconds, his fingers sliding along Castiel's. "Sam brought these over late last night. That friend of his, Kevin, his grandfather shipped them out from the Orient. They're not rolled with regular tobacco. Can't remember what Sam said they have in them, but according to Kevin they're supposed to help heal you, clean your system out or whatever. You ever heard of a healthy cigarette, Cas?"

Castiel shook his head. "What do the colors mean?"

"Fucked if I know, but I like these blue ones." He replaced the lid and set the box on the floor off to the side before grabbing a match and striking it.

The paper didn't burn any differently than the white and brown ones Castiel was used to seeing, which surprised him for some reason. The smoke wasn't an unusual color, but the smell was unique. He was used to cigarette smoke smelling bitter, making him wrinkle his nose and cover his face, but this was sweeter even than pipe smoke. The tea smell only grew more intense, wisps of gray flitting up into the air and dissipating. When Dean exhaled his lips curled around it, puffing out rings that rolled and twisted apart. Dean looked at him, fingers warm against his bare shoulder. There were times when they'd just look at each other, staring for seemingly no reason. Sam had once said it was a little weird, but Dean rolled his eyes and never stopped.

Words were being spoken, Dean's voice a low murmur that relaxed him further. It took him a second to catch up and understand. "Want to try it?"

He opened his mouth to speak, but settled for glancing over at the steadily burning roll of dried leaves perched between Dean's index and middle finger and nodded. Dean smiled, bringing his hand forward and Castiel thought for a moment he'd hand it off, but then his lips wrapped around the end and he inhaled deeply. Confusion creased his forehead and Dean smirked, his hand coming forward, toward his mouth. Castiel opened his mouth to accept the end of cigarette, but was surprised when Dean cupped his jaw and leaned forward, blowing smoke into his mouth for him to inhale. He gasped and reached out, fingers clutching onto the pale nightshirt the other man wore.

The smoke was hot and sweet, light in his mouth and his lungs. He'd never smoked before, all the money he had going toward food when and if he had it. Somehow he doubted it would have been like this. Their lips were almost touching, smoke floating up between them. Dean's eyes were hooded, his teeth peeking out when he smiled as Castiel exhaled.

"It's good, right?" It was, the smoke warmed him and left him breathing easier, which he didn't think was possible. The taste clung to his tongue and gums, making him lick his lips. Dean's eyes tracked the movement, corner of his mouth hitching into another smirk.

"More." Castiel's voice was quiet, not quite a whisper and heavier than usual.

The smirk turned into a wide grin as Dean took another drag and pushed closer, fully kissing him this time. He moaned softly before breathing in, taking every ounce of honeyed vapor from Dean's lungs into his own. When they broke apart he tipped his head back and blew out toward the ceiling. Gentle teeth nipped at his Adam's apple, lips securing around it and sucking in a way that made him gasp. He pulled his head back up and put a hand on Dean's jaw, drawing his Master in for a kiss devoid of any smoke. Dean's tongue tasted of it when he sucked on it and the insides of his cheeks did as well. Castiel chased after the flavor, unaware of pulling himself almost completely into Dean's lap.

The other man didn't seem to mind at all, drawing him closer and growling at him playfully. Ashes had spilled onto Dean's pants, the cigarette half-gone. Castiel grabbed Dean's wrist and pulled it up, holding it there as he slid his hand across calloused fingers, his index and middle parting around the roll. His lips touched the pads of Dean's fingers as they closed around the end and he sucked. The smoke was more intense firsthand, hotter on his tongue and going down his throat and far sweeter but not overbearing. The flavor and feel were still airy and he found he liked it sitting in his chest as he turned his head to press his mouth to Dean's, exhaling for the man beneath him to breathe.

A look of awe was lighting Dean's face, faint reflection from the window turning his green eyes sharp like gems. He snuffed the cigarette out in the ashtray beside them, blowing the smoke out heavily. Castiel rearranged himself to straddle Dean's thighs, hands holding onto either side of a stubble dusted jaw as they kissed. Dean's erection pushed against his as their hips met, Castiel grinding down languidly. Strong fingers were digging into the flesh of his hips, trying to bring him closer even though it wasn't possible.

They broke apart, panting heavily as their foreheads rested against each other. Dean pushed him back to mid-thigh and pulled the buttons of his fly open, drawing him out with a sure grip. Castiel tried to reach down to do the same but Dean pushed his hands away.

Dean was looking at him intently, about like he did after their first time, something deep and warm and terrifying in the green that made Castiel feel like he was falling after being pushed out of a window. "Just... just let me do this for you, all right?"

He nodded and moaned softly when Dean started to stroke, his other hand rubbing up and down Castiel's side. Dean's lips were busy, pushing tender kisses into his neck as he struggled not to demand Dean get on his back and let himself be ridden. There was this little thing he would do, a flick and twist of his wrist near the head combined with his fingers folding over completely, palming him after each stroke. The pleasure built quickly, skin hot and blood pounding in his ears with the same rhythm as the throbbing of his cock in Dean's grasp. Dean kept kissing him, making his way to Castiel's mouth to suckle his tongue and tease him further. The familiar warmth of his orgasm was building low in his stomach, a heavy counter to the smell of the smoke still present on their lips and in their breath.

His fingers grabbed at the shoulders of Dean's shirt, pulling and tearing seams as Dean squeezed and rubbed over the slit. A broken noise croaked out of Castiel's throat as he came and ruined the faded material. His Master didn't seem to pay any mind, smiling to him as he collapsed and rubbing gentle circles into his back. After a moment he pulled back and smiled softly into the kiss Dean gave him. Dean was still hard, lust unsatisfied as Castiel sat in his lap.

Before he could even voice his concern Dean spoke against his skin. "Come to my room?"

Castiel smiled wickedly. "Bring the box and the matches."


End file.
